Sarah is my middle daughter and my threenager.  She just turned 3 years old and is my short, sweet, and loving second daughter.  She is well spoken, clever, and creative.  Her kisses are sincere, her arms wrap tightly and squeeze lovingly with hugs, and her smile melts every person’s heart that meets her.

She is a precious gift, there is no doubt.

But I may not survive her.

My threenager makes me wonder how I will be surviving sarah
She has got to be the most persistently whiny child I have ever met.  And all of my friends and relatives have children, so I  – sort of… kind of… not really – know what I am talking about!  I work in a church nursery two days a week and no one, I mean no one, has ever shown me Sarah’s special talent for making me want to voluntary run my finger nails down a chalk board just to drown her out.

She does not just whine when she is upset.  She has a whine for when she is happy, sad, mad, cranky, excited, playful and so on.  And it starts the minute she wakes up and does not end until she whines herself to sleep at night.

I am over it.

Way over it.

Like I am over my stretch marks, over it.

Now, I know what you are thinking.

“So that sweet little chocolate brown eyed, porcelain faced, devastatingly darling, little angel whines a little.  Give her a break!”


Let’s add in another little err – nuance, shall we say?

She is O.C.D.  Not clinically diagnosed, of course, but Mommy diagnosed, and we all know that is more accurate and better anyway, so…

She has to drink out of the same cup.  No matter what.  Her water is out of one and her milk is out of the other.  Juices, should she ever drink them – it’s rare around here – have to come from a different one altogether.

She does not share her cups.  Under any circumstances.

She does not alternate, variate, or delineate from said cups.  Not for Dora, not for an Oreo, not for her beloved Panda bear.  Nothing.  Nada.  Zippo works to get her to “try” something else.

And if said cups are not available, the whines hit a level of insanity that is almost unbearable.  My head splits, my patience runs for cover, and my ears plead for me to let them run away from home.

It is not just the cups that makes me think she is O.C.D.

She has to have her sheets “match”. She has to lay on a certain side in my bed when we have movie night.  She has to have Dora panties on.  So that she can remove them, pee on my carpet, and put them back on.  Kid you not.

She has to have her Dora flip flops.  She has to buckle herself in just so to her car seat.  She has to play with the same toys, ride the same beat up, dog chewed bike – despite a new fancy one for her birthday, swing on the exact same swing, slide down “her” slide, and on and on and on and on.

I try as I might to deter her from such consistency.  But I fail.  Miserably.  Daily.

I don’t know what to do.  I am at a loss as to how to calm her whining and show her that, just because her milk is in the pink cup and not the purple one, it is still milk!  So, most days, I grin and  bear it. Endure it.  Cater to it.  Dread it.

And complain about it.

And then feel guilty.

Because I love her.

And she is  a lot like me.

And if I can live with me, I can certainly survive Sarah.